Tomorrow Never Knows
by espiyo
Summary: Set during 3.1, Harry has just told Mace he's going to prove Tom's innocence, and sent him away with a flea in his ear. All Ruth's worried about, though, is Harry... Disclaimer: Kudos / The BBC own all.
1. Chapter 1

She waited until Mace emerged at the far side of the pods, then went over to his office and slid open the door. Slumped in his chair, he was cradling a tumbler of whisky against his chest.

'Um, you shouldn't be drinking that.'

'After the day I've had, do you want to try taking it off me?'

'Do you want Mike to have to carry you home? Booze and industrial strength painkillers aren't the best combination, Harry, and you need to keep your wits about you right now.'

He grunted, and leaning forward gingerly slid the glass onto his desk. Somewhere in the back of his mind the wisp of a thought floated, the awareness that if anyone else had given him that lecture he'd have bawled them out of his office. Too weary to contemplate this further he leaned back in his chair.

'Did you barge in here for anything in particular, Ruth?'

'I – I just wondered if you were okay. You look exhausted.'

'Thank you for that.'

'How's your shoulder?'

He bit back a sarcastic retort. 'Sore.'

She tried again. 'Look, I, um, noticed that you didn't eat any of the sandwiches. You must be hungry though; can I get you anything?'

'Somehow I doubt that any eaterie open at this hour will serve anything remotely edible. Now, if that's...'

Her face lit up. 'No, no, I know a great all night place about ten minutes away! I, er, go there sometimes on my way home. We could...if you like...I mean...'

He pinched his thumb and forefinger together across his eyelids. 'Actually, now that we know that Tom _was_ set up there's probably not a lot we can do until the morning, so why not. Give me five minutes to pack up and whatnot, and I'll meet you at the front door.'

'Let me help you. It won't be easy with one hand..'

'Thank you, Ruth, but the emphasis was really on the whatnot rather than the pack up. I meant nip to the loo.'

'Oh! Right. Well, no...I...' blushing furiously she backed to the door. 'I'll see you...' she waved vaguely, '...yes.'

* * *

><p>'Full English for me please,' said Harry. 'The works. And a pot of tea.'<p>

'I'll have a thin crust pizza. Anchovies, olives, jalapeno peppers, and...pineapple. Thanks. Oh, and make that tea for two.' Ruth beamed. The cafe owner nodded and moved off, still scribbling on his pad.

She turned back to Harry, who looked faintly nauseated. 'Ruth, um, that's, that's quite some combination. None of my business of course, but is there anything you want to tell me?'

She looked at him blankly.

'Are you pregnant?'

'Actually, yes.' She smiled, mischievously.

Harry felt a curious weight settling in his stomach. 'Oh. Well, congratulations.'

She was still grinning at him. 'Just one tiny thing. You're the father.'

He stared at her. 'Ruth,' he said at length, 'in recent days I've had my section chief go rogue, turn my shoulder into a colander, and get set up by someone who's been dead for five years. And I'm not even going to start on Oliver Mace's shenanigans. So, forgive me if I have no appetite for games.'

'Sorry, sorry, it's just when you said...sorry.'

Ruth looked so chastened that Harry, feeling guilty and irritated by turn, snapped, 'So get to the point, then!'

She leaned back as the owner re-appeared with their tea. Harry, who'd been expecting styrofoam cups and sachets was taken aback at the stoneware laid out in front of them, and his hopes lifted that the first decent meal in days might actually be edible.

'Thank you Tony,' said Ruth, and she waited til he'd disappeared back behind his counter before continuing.

'It's just that I went to the hospital to tell you about Mace and the JIC, but they wouldn't let me see you. I had to bribe a nurse with £50 and tell her that I was carrying your child before she would even pass on the note.'

'Fifty quid? I'm obviously paying you too much, Ruth,' he grumbled, reaching for the teapot. He filled both mugs, his almost to the brim. 'Milk? Sugar?'

'Just milk please. That's fine,' she added, as he poured.

'Thank god Danny didn't go to the hospital then,' he murmured. 'Although I would've loved to have seen him trying to camp it up. And Zoe...nobody would've believed her if she'd told them she was expecting my child.' He chuckled, oblivious to the fact that across the table Ruth had gone very still.

'Really? Why's that?'

'Well, somebody like her would never...' Too late, Harry realised his mistake.

'Whereas I would?'

He winced. 'I'm old enough to be Zoe's father, Ruth. And yes, okay, yours too, at a push, but... Oh god.' He sighed. 'Zoe is one of those women that every man sees as unattainable, regardless of his age. Don't ask me what it is about her...no!' he exclaimed, as Ruth threw him a withering look, 'it's not just about a pretty face or a, uh, good figure, it's...she oozes self confidence, self reliance, the assurance that she could have any man she wanted but doesn't really need one.'

Ruth eyed him over the rim of her mug. 'Keep digging, Harry.'

He took a slug of tea and leaned back in his chair. 'I think I've been unprofessional enough for one night, wouldn't you say?'

'Coward.'

'So be it.' His smile was smothered by a yawn.

They lapsed into silence, Harry desperate just to close his eyes, Ruth all too well aware of this, and wondering if she should just forget the meal and call a taxi.

'I-I'm sure Danny didn't mean, it, you know.'

'About shooting me? Yes he did. Danny doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean.'

'He was probably just trying to impress Adam.'

Harry chuckled. 'Yes, Adam does rather appear to have something of a fan club already, although you and Zoe seem less than enamoured of him.'

'Just because we weren't fawning all over him doesn't mean...'

'No, no, noses were definitely out of joint, for some reason. But, I promise you, Ruth, Adam's one of the good guys. One of the best. I'd trust him with my life.'

'Well, Zoe and Danny may have to, so they're not just going to welcome him with open arms just because he's your blue eyed boy.'

'Danny did,' Harry retorted.

'Yeah, well,' Ruth muttered. 'That's probably because he's so loyal to Tom, and Adam's the one person who hasn't had him tried, sentenced and executed for what he did to you.'

He pursed his lips. 'Are you saying that I need be concerned about Danny's loyalty?'

'What? No! Not at all. But they've been through a lot together and you build stronger bonds with someone you're out risking your life with on a regular basis than with some borderline alcoholic who just barks orders and throws hissy fits from behind a desk.'

_She's smiling,_ he thought, _but something like that doesn't come from nowhere. Is that really how she perceives me? Shit. _Moodily he picked up his teaspoon and flipped it between his fingers. _And since when did it bother you what your team think of you, anyway? _

Ruth, in turn, hadn't missed the flash of hurt in his eyes. 'I'm joking, Harry. Well, insofar as there's no 'just' about it. You also do a good line in sarcasm.' Expecting a demonstration of just that, when he didn't respond she realised with a jolt that the hard nut persona he projected was maybe just that; a shell. She closed her hand over his, halting the teaspoon in its tracks. 'Harry, your team thinks the world of you, and when I'm not being totally offensive and presumptuous and inappropriate and effectively writing my own P45...'

'Ruth..'

'...I am actually doing my best to impress you because...'

'Ruth...' the combination of her hand on his and her flushed cheeks was beginning to have a totally inappropriate effect on him.

'...I don't want to go back to GCHQ and I've really..oh...great!'

To Harry's relief, Tony had arrived with their food, and Ruth released him and sat back, eyeing her pizza with a hunger she hadn't known she felt. Tearing off a slice she looked up at Harry, who had started attacking a sausage with the edge of his fork.

'Would you like me to cut that up for you?'

He shook his head. 'I can manage,' he said, his tone abrupt.

_Oh god, _she thought_. Way to go Ruth, you finally land an interesting, challenging, worthwhile job with a great bunch of people and you throw it away by insulting your boss.  
><em>_  
><em>Harry Pearce might be sarcastic, demanding and short tempered, but she knew all too well that he was also fair, supportive of his team and appreciative of the work they did. More than that, he would always back them to the hilt no matter what. Despairing, she slapped the slice of pizza back onto her plate.

'I'm sorry,' she burst out.

Harry, intent on spearing an unwilling mushroom, looked up in surprise, and was confronted with Ruth, who moments before had been playfully teasing him, clearly on the verge of tears.

'Ruth?'

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. It's just...' she flapped her hands.

He'd never been very good with tearful women. His mother had been the stoical sort, never one for public displays of anything other than calm forbearance. He had no sisters, no close female friends; and Jane...Jane had been more one for yelling and sarcasm and angry silences. And now Ruth sat across from him, eyes skyward, dabbing at her lower eyelids in a bid to salvage what remained of that morning's make up.

At that moment he was distracted as the cafe door flew open, and a gang of workmen trooped in, laughing uproariously. Builders, Harry surmised, going by the grubby jeans, the worn sweatshirts, and the rigger boots. Three of them shouted greetings in the general direction of Tony, then they all clattered down at a couple of tables in the far corner, ribbing the youngest of the group, who seemed to be taking it all in well-accustomed good part.

He turned back to Ruth. 'Look, the last few days have been difficult for all of us. You have nothing to apologise for. Trust me, the day you do you'll know all about it.'

She sniffed, forcing a laugh. 'Sorry, I must look a fright. I should go and...'

'You look lovely,' he said, unthinking. The instant the words left his lips he blushed. Ruth's eyes eyes darted to his, astonished, then her face bloomed into a bashful, dimpled smile which made his stomach somersault once more.

'Thank you.'

'Eat your pizza,' he said gruffly. 'It's getting cold.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews! The late night tête à tête continues...**

* * *

><p>Outside on the pavement, and to the east the hem of the sky was beginning to lighten. Huddling into her coat, Ruth glanced up at him. In the wash of the street lamp his face was pale and pinched. The hot meal and the tea might have given her a second wind, but it was obvious that Harry was in no fit state to be walking anywhere.<p>

'Taxi?'

'Mmm. Let's go back up to the main road; we'll have more luck there.'

They headed north, in silence. Every few steps their hands brushed together, but neither could find the courage to let their fingers reach out and entwine. In Victoria Street, Harry finally spotted a black cab, the lurid orange glow the most welcoming sight he thought he'd ever seen in his life.

'Where to, folks?' the driver asked, as they clambered in.

Ruth told him.

Gingerly lowering himself onto the seat, Harry did a double take. 'Ruth, your house is much nearer.'

'Ey up mate, your luck's in!' chortled the driver to Harry's reflection, only to catch the look of fury on his face. 'Sorry, guv, no offence.'

Busy fumbling for her seatbelt buckle, Ruth glanced at the licence plate on the door. If this joker was one of her spook taxis, he'd be getting his P45 in the morning.

'So what did you do to your arm, guv?' asked the driver as he pulled out.

'I was in a car crash. A taxi driver jumped a red light and ploughed into the side of me.' Harry saw the driver grimace and winked at Ruth.

'Gawd strewth. Well, I hope they throw the book at him.'

'Indeed.' As Harry had hoped, the driver now lapsed into silence. Mind in neutral, Ruth gazed out the window, watching the harsh shadows soften as neon lights and shops and office blocks made way for slumbering homes and huddled trees. As they approached Harry's street she turned to him, but his head lay tilted away from her, and his eyes were closed. The street lamps illuminated his face in slow bursts; he was frowning, his lips pursed together in disapproval. Gently she rested her hand on his arm.

'Harry? We're here.'

His hips shifted and his head turned towards her, but he didn't wake.

'Sorry love, this is the nearest I can get.'

Ruth looked up. He'd pulled into the kerb three doors from Harry's house. 'That's fine. How much do we owe you?'

'Thirty two fifty.' He flicked on the interior light.

'Harry!' said Ruth, more loudly, rummaging in her bag for her purse. She wasn't in the habit of carrying much money with her, and this close to pay day the chances of a spare thirty-odd quid nestling in there were about as high as those of Tom getting a Christmas card from Carmen Joyce. She handed the driver a ten pound note and a handful of coins, with an apologetic 'I'll just...' and a nod in Harry's direction.

'Harry, wake up.' She cupped his face in her hand, gently stroking the day's growth of stubble with her thumb. 'We're home.'

Reluctantly Harry opened his eyes and Ruth sat back. 'Oh,' he muttered, squinting in the light.

'Sorry, I need twenty pounds.'

Grimacing he slid his hand into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed it to her. 'Ruth, take enough to get you home; there's no need...'

Ignoring him, she paid and stepped out of the taxi. Harry, stiff and sleep-drugged, gave an exasperated sigh then clambered out after her.

She handed him his wallet. 'You were dead to the world.'

'Old army trick. You learn to sleep absolutely anywhere, to grab forty winks when you can. Unfortunately though I'm not as good at snapping awake as I used to be.'

'In the circumstances, I think you're forgiven.'

As they went up the steps to his front door, no welcoming bark greeted their approach.

'No Scarlet?'

Harry was rather awkwardly sorting through his ring of keys. 'No, she's still with Gina next door. Don't think I'd be much cop at opening tins of dogfood with one hand. Here we go.' Pushing the door open he flicked on the light then indicated for Ruth to go in ahead of him. As he switched off the burglar alarm she laid her bag on the hall chair and hung up her coat.

'D'you want a hand with your coat?' she asked.

'Ruth...' his unease, his embarrassment, were palpable.

Standing behind him she eased the coat off his injured shoulder. Grudgingly he slid his arm out of the other sleeve.

'Ruth, I...'

She hung up the coat beside her own and turned back to him. 'Harry, I'm here to help, that's all. I'd do the same for anyone. Now, where are your discharge instructions?'

'My what?'

'Presumably the hospital gave you a sheet of dos and don'ts...?'

'Um...'

'Well, what did they tell you then?'

'Mr Pearce, I strongly advise against your discharging yourself...' he shrugged. 'I stopped listening after that. They did give me a box of pills and some spare bandages, though. Kitchen table.'

He levered off his shoes and flicked them under the hall chair then followed her through to the kitchen. She'd switched on the downlighters under the kitchen units and was rifling through the paper bag.

'How many have you had today?'

'Two lots. Four.'

'Well, you should take a couple more; they might help you sleep.' She slid a strip from the box and pushed out two pills. 'Here. I'll just get you some water.'

He tipped the pills into his mouth and washed them down. 'Talking of sleep, I should show you where your room is.' Without waiting for her to respond he turned and headed upstairs, opening the door into the bedroom next to his own. It was, he realised now, not particularly welcoming. The walls were pale blue and the woodwork off white, the same colour as the two bedside tables and the chest of drawers. They and the large brass bed were the only items of furniture in the room. The floorboards, the original wood, had been stripped and varnished, but there were no rugs, no pictures on the walls, and all the surfaces were bare.

'Sorry. It's a bit spartan.'

'Harry, right now I'm so tired I could sleep in Scarlet's basket.' She eased past him and into the room. For all she liked her knicknacks around her, her throws and her scatter cushions and her books, the simplicity of the room was somehow calming. 'It's absolutely fine. Let's get you sorted though, hmm? Bathroom first?'

'Ruth, I promise you, I can manage.'

'Sure, but it'll take you twice as long and be three times as messy. Where's your bathroom?'

He sighed. 'Last door on the left.'

To his relief, her assistance with his ablutions was confined to squeezing toothpaste onto his brush and face wash onto his flannel, then with an ominous 'I'll just get your bed sorted,' she left him in peace.

* * *

><p>His bedroom, she had to admit, was a surprise. The colour scheme was dark red, with cherry wood furniture, including the biggest bed she thought she'd ever seen. On either side of it lay Persian rugs that even to her inexpert eyes looked like they were worth serious money. Black and white prints of his children and far flung city scapes adorned the walls, the only personal touch in the room. She pulled back the duvet, and using the spare pillows, created a wall what she imagined to be a Harry-width from the edge. Not satisfied, she went back to her own room and took all bar one of the pillows from the bed. As she was adding them to the pile, she heard an amused voice behind her.<p>

'Ruth, what on earth are you doing?'

'Building a wall. It'll support your shoulder and stop you rolling over in your sleep.' She stepped back to admire her handiwork. 'That should do it.'

'Oh. Right. Um, I meant to say, help yourself to whatever you need toiletries wise, and I've put a clean towel on the bathroom radiator for you.'

'Thanks. I have my own...bits and bobs though. Travel sizes. You never know when you're going to have to pull an overnighter in this job. Could...could I borrow a tshirt or something though? This top is a bit short to sleep in.'

Harry looked like he was about to say something, then smiling wistfully he beckoned behind her towards the chest of drawers. 'Second drawer down.'

She tugged it open and pulled out the first top. Harry winced as she held it up, a look of joyous incredulity on her face.

'Baby pink? Harry Pearce wears baby pink?'

'I'll have you know, I look bloody good in baby pink. Now, when you've quite finished being insulting...'

'What did I say that was insulting? Huh? What did I say that was insulting? I merely...' Laughing, she swept the tshirt out of his reach as he lunged for it. 'Careful, Harry, you're not supposed to be exerting yourself.'

'I'm not dead yet, Evershed,' he growled. 'Now, are you going to help me get this sling off or not?'

'Spoilsport. But I'm not sure that you should be taking it off, Harry.'

'I'm not sleeping in my bloody shirt!'

'No, of course. Sorry.'

He sat on the edge of the bed, and Ruth eased off his braces then inspected the sling, memorising what went where before she began to unbuckle it all. 'Okay, hold your arm still against your chest.'

With a dexterity that surprised him given her usual cack-handedness, she undid the sling and removed his cufflinks and laid them on the bedside table. 'Right, shirt. Keep your arms like that, I'll try to...'

With rather more speed and efficiency than Harry would have liked, she unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it out of his waistband. Pressing his injured arm against his chest he bent his other one enabling her to pull off the sleeve. As she reached for the collar on the other side she glanced for the first time at his chest, and saw the livid bruising that extended beyond the bandages, as far as his sternum.

'Oh god,' she whispered. Gently her fingertips traced the outline, and Harry was unable to prevent a low moan escaping his lips.

Her hand jerked away as if scalded. 'S-sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.'

'You didn't hurt me, Ruth. It's just...it's been a long time.'

'What? Oh!' She took a step back, blushing furiously.

'It's okay,' he said, tiredly. 'I'm not planning on having my wicked way with you. Frankly, I don't think I could.' Reaching up he eased the shirt down over his arm and off. 'Would you mind putting the sling back on, please?'

'Are you not wearing a...'

He shook his head. 'The only tops I have that button down the front are my shirts, and the thought of manipulating my arm into... No.' He held out the sling. 'Please.'

Now she was all too aware of the nearness of him, of the smell of him, of his laborious breathing. Now she was all fingers and thumbs, jolting his elbow and making him gasp in pain.

'Sorry, sorry! Oh, shag!' she burst out, as the strap unravelled.

The corners of his mouth twitched. 'Ruth, it's okay. Take your time.'

A deep breath, and once more she bent to her task, her face just centimetres from his, frowning in concentration. He caught a hint of her perfume and closed his eyes, desperately turning his thoughts to the JIC, to Mace, to Tom; to anything but the here and now.

'Okay, I think that's it. Can you press down a bit...' The sling held. 'Thank goodness for that.' She straightened, and reached for the tshirt on the bed beside him. 'Can you manage from here?'

'Mmm.'

'Right. Well, goodnight, Harry. What's left of it.'

He managed a half-smile. 'Goodnight Ruth. Pleasant dreams.'

* * *

><p><strong>One more to go, I think. Thank you for reading!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for all the reviews! And thanks too, to Howard Brenton, who helped out with some of it! ;)**

**Apologies, this a long one, but hope you enjoy it.**

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><p>Harry slept fitfully, the late meal lying heavy in his stomach, the pills merely taking the edge off the pain. Yet for the first time since the shooting he wasn't tormented with images of Tom raising the gun, he didn't dream of slowly suffocating as his own blood filled his lungs. He dreamed of Ruth; fractured, unsatisfying dreams which he wouldn't recall on waking, but which embedded themselves deep in his subconscious, vignettes of possibilities that his conscious self was yet to imagine.<p>

Old habits die hard, though, and when she entered his room he sensed the change in the atmosphere, a creaking floorboard sending him swimming reluctantly towards wakefulness.

'Ruth,' he muttered.

'Ruth,' he repeated, stupidly, the blood that should have been in his brain having been diverted elsewhere.

He felt a sudden coolness on his forehead; as his eyelids fluttered open she lifted her hand away.

'Sorry, I thought you might be burning up; you look quite flushed. I - I brought you a cup of tea.'

He heard the dull thunk as she placed the mug on his bedside table.

'How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?'

'Like a baby.' He struggled upright and regarded her blearily. She was already dressed, in a different top to that of the day before. Her capacious handbags were beginning to make sense. 'Time is it?'

'Just gone eight.'

He stared at her. 'Shit, I must've slept through...'

'I switched it off last night. Well, this morning, while you were in the bathroom. I thought that for once the Grid could do without you at 7am.'

'Ruth, have you any idea what Mace...' he reached to throw back the duvet then thought the better of it. 'The future of the service is at stake, Ruth. This isn't the time to be...'

'It's exactly the time to be.' Reaching across she lifted up his mug and held it towards him. 'It's fine. I phoned in. Adam has everything under control. You have an early meeting and I'm going to see one of Tom's assets.'

He took the mug. 'Right,' he said drily.

'Drink your tea, I'll get your bath started.'

His eyes followed her to the door, a bemused smile playing on his lips. He was beginning to think he should get shot more often.

* * *

><p>She stood by the window, silhouetted against the light, gazing out over the rooftops. Suddenly self-conscious, he clutched his dressing gown closed. Turning, she smiled at him. 'Y'know, for a man who keeps getting shot, your medicine cabinet is pretty woeful. Out-of-date TCP and half a box of plasters?'<p>

'In fairness, I do tend to get shot at work. At home I'm more in danger of giving myself food poisoning and tripping over the dog.'

'Food poisoning? To get that you have to actually cook, Harry.'

'Ha, bloody ha.' He glanced down at the box in her hand. 'What on earth are you doing with the clingfilm?'

'It's to keep your wound dry. I'll attach it with the plasters, assuming they've still got some sticky left.'

Harry glanced into the bath tub. Barely half full. 'Ruth, it's okay, I'll just be careful..'

'Sorry, I'm under strict instructions.'

'What instructions?'

'You're going to have to take your dressing gown off. Are you decent?'

'Depends what you mean by decent. Ruth, what instructions?'

Stalling for time, she divested him of his dressing gown and hung it on the door hook. As she turned back towards him the surreality of the situation suddenly struck her. She had just spent the night in her boss's house and here she was in his bathroom clutching a roll of clingfilm while he stood a few feet away, clad in a sling, several feet of bandage and a pair of trunks that left precious little to the imagination.

'Oh, thanks Ruth, that does wonders for a man's ego.' Yet in the same heartbeat he realised that she could trample his ego into oblivion if she wanted, just so long as she smiled at him like that all day.

'Sorry, sorry. I was just thinking what a bonkers situation this is, you and me here, like this.'

'Bonkers it may be, but I'm glad you're here.'

She didn't respond, and he stood patiently as she removed the sling and began to unravel the bandage round his chest. 'Ruth, what instructions?' he persisted.

'Oh. I, er, phoned the hospital and asked about your post-op care and the dos and don'ts.'

'Ah. And there was me thinking you'd hacked into my laptop for a google.'

'I would say "As if", but that was Plan B.'

His lips twitched. 'So what did you have to threaten them with to get them to talk to you?'

Ruth's hand faltered. 'I didn't threaten them with anything. I said I was your wife. Sorry.'

'Needs must, Ruth. Nothing to apologise for.'

'Yes, but they now think you're married and have got one of your colleagues pregnant.'

He laughed. 'Right enough. Well, next time I get shot you'd better make sure you have a good alibi.'

'Don't.'

'Hmm?'

'Can you hold the pad for a minute...'

With rather more force than was strictly necessary she tore a sheet of clingfilm from the roll.

'Ruth? What...' he stared at her, perplexed.

'Don't joke about it, Harry.'

'Sorry, I...'

'Zoe phoned me. She said that Tom had shot you and Danny was using towels to try to stem the blood loss. She said you were unconscious.' She lifted Harry's hand from the pad and laid the clingfilm over it, gently smoothing it down. 'Hold that.'

Harry looked up at her. Brow furrowed, blinking rapidly, her lips were clamped into a thin line. 'I thought you were crying for Tom,' he said quietly.

Her fingers, busy ripping open a plaster wrapping, stilled. ' How did you...?'

'I watched the CCTV footage. I had to see if anyone was in cahoots with him.'

'Oh.' Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, Ruth ducked her head. 'And was there?'

'No, I don't think so.' Gently he reached under her chin and tilted her head upwards. Reluctantly her eyes met his. 'Thank you,' he whispered. 'For giving a damn.'

At that moment they both felt the atmosphere in the room shift. Heart hammering, Harry bent his head to hers. Their lips brushed and he felt her hesitate for a moment, then her hand reached to the back of his neck, her fingers twining into his soft curls. Initially soft and slow, their kisses soon intensified, and parting her lips she felt his tongue tease hers. She felt a surge of longing so powerful it was overwhelming, and dazed, she stepped back.

Misunderstanding, Harry's hand reached for hers. 'Your room or mine?'

She glanced up. The bashful smile and the desire in his eyes almost weakened her resolve.

'Harry, we can't.'

''Course we can. We're both consenting adults, footloose and fancy free. Come on.'

She didn't move, and her eyes remained resolutely trained on the floor. Harry felt his heart sink.

Tentatively, his left hand reached up and cupped her face. As she leaned into him he felt a brief flicker of hope. 'I want you, Ruth.'

'I can see that.'

'And don't try to tell me you don't feel the same.' Shifting her hair back he bent to nuzzle at her neck, and as one hand worked its way inside her top the other curved round her bottom, pulling her against him.

'Harry, your shoulder,' she muttered, her breathing now erratic.

If using his arm had been painful, it hadn't even registered.

'Harry! Oh god. Harry, you're bleeding!' She pulled out of his arms, gazing at his shoulder in dismay. The gauze lay on the floor between them and the raw, ragged mess of his shoulder had begun bleeding anew.

She bent to retrieve the bloodied pad. 'Look, let me just do a temporary patch up then after your bath I'll change it all.'

'Ruth, sod my fucking shoulder, all I want right now is to take you to bed.'

But the moment had gone, and with a groan of frustration he slumped down onto the edge of the bath and let Ruth minister to his heaving, battered chest.

* * *

><p>She looked up as he entered the kitchen. He was dressed, apart from his shirt, and he held his arm awkwardly against his chest.<p>

'My bodge-it job held, then.'

His smile was tentative. 'Pretty much. Look Ruth, I..'

'Toast? I'm assuming you won't want much after our late night feast.'

'Er, yes, that's fine, thanks. Ruth, I...'

'What would you like on it?'

'Butter and marmite, please. Not too thick. I...'

'Orange juice? Coffee?'

He dragged his fingertips across his forehead. 'Ruth, I would like to get a word in edgeways if I may.'

She stood with her back to him, feeding bread into the toaster. 'It's okay, you don't need to say anything. It's forgotten.'

'What?'

'There's no need to apologise. For what happened in the bathroom.'

He stared at her. 'Apologise? Right, right. Well, that's good to know.'

If the sarcasm registered, she didn't show it.

Retrieving the box of painkillers from the bag, he fumbled two out of the strip and tossed them into his mouth. He washed them down with a glass of water, his eyes on her the whole time. Oblivious, Ruth was busy pouring out orange juice and measuring coffee grounds for the cafetière. He sat down at the table, not trusting himself to speak as his emotions wheeled between confusion, irritation, dismay and desire. As she leaned over him to lay his plate of toast and marmite on the table he took a deep breath.

'May I say something?'

The hand hesitating in mid-air belied her cheery 'Of course!'

'I-I'm not in the habit of trying to seduce my staff and if you felt I was abusing my position earlier then I can only apologise.'

'I told you, you don't need to apologise.'

'Frankly, it never crossed my mind that an apology might be required,' he said quietly. 'I felt something, I thought you did too. And like I said, we're both grown ups. That's all there was to it.'

'Harry, it's fine.' The kettle clicked off, and glad of the distraction Ruth crossed the kitchen to make the coffee.'We'll say no more about it.'

'What am I,' he thought peevishly, 'some naughty bloody schoolboy?' His face determinedly neutral, he turned his attention to his toast.

At the other side of the room as Ruth poured his coffee the familiar refrain began cycling round inside her head. 'You bloody fool. You stupid, bloody fool.'

* * *

><p>'Harry?'<p>

'Mm?' Through gritted teeth.

'You've been at boarding school, you've played rugby and you spent two years in the army. You're meant to be built of sterner stuff than this.'

'You're swabbing neat and, as you so kindly informed me, out-of-date TCP onto fresh bullet wounds. I'm sorry, but it bloody hurts!'

'Shot.'

'Yes, funnily enough I hadn't forgotten.'

'No, I mean it was shot in Tom's gun, not bullets.'

'Is this you giving me a lecture on ballistics, Ruth?'

She was smiling. 'Sounds like you need one.'

'Dramatic licence, that's what it's called.'

'Ah, is that right?' She went over to the counter and rummaged in her bag, emerging with a small tube of cream. Harry groaned.

'What fresh hell is this?'

'Arnica. To help with the bruising. It's probably too late but it won't do any harm.' And with deft but firm strokes she began to massage it into the lurid panoply of bruises on his chest. His lesson well and truly learned, Harry eased his mobile phone out of his trouser pocket.

'Best phone for a taxi,' he said. 'Half an hour, do you reckon?'

'Yeah,' said Ruth absently, her hand gliding towards his stomach. 'Should be fine.'

Harry hit speed dial, and girded himself for the longest half an hour of his life.

* * *

><p>He got out of the taxi ten minutes' walk from Thames House, partly because his head was fuzzy from the painkillers and lack of sleep and he needed some fresh air, partly because he didn't want to hear Ruth saying that she didn't want to arrive with him. By the time he got on to the Grid there was no sign of her. He did, however, find the rest of the team in the forgery suite; Malcolm in full Mad Scientist gear, complete with headband magnifier and white lab coat, clutching what appeared to be the innards of a mobile phone.<p>

'I've analysed the circuits in Joyce's phone. He had a coding device for sending texts. Very natty.'

Adam leaned over. 'What did they say?'

'Well, there's a lot of sex. Sorry,' he added, with a glance at Zoe and Harry.

Harry, his mind half on the events of earlier that morning, didn't respond.

'Use the mobile to text the wife. A message that seems to have come from Joyce, something to get her to come to London at once.'

Zoe regarded him sceptically. 'And then what? We pick her up?'

'Yep. We squeeze the whole story out of her, the whole plot against Tom. On the record, cut and dried, wham, bam, thank you very much.'

Harry pondered. 'So we lure a United States citizen to this country and force a confession out of her? That is a totally illegal, madcap scheme. I like it. Great idea, Adam.'

'It's not mine, it's Tom's. We'll tail her from the airport.'

Danny looked unconvinced. 'She's ex-CIA. She'll spot a tail.'

'So we'll go to the movies. Use CCTV all the way. Wait til she gets to the hotel then lift her.'

'Will she come?' asked Zoe.

Adam grinned. 'I've got a feeling Carmen Joyce is like her old man.'

Harry's eyes narrowed. 'In what way?'

'She's addicted to danger.'

'Okay. Well, let me know when you have her. I'll be in my office if anyone needs me.'

* * *

><p>He signed off the last of the overnight reports and glanced at his watch. Nearly 2pm. Time for a late lunch. As he turned the corner towards the lifts he saw Ruth coming towards him, clutching a bundle of files.<p>

'Ruth. Busy morning?'

'Well, it was short. Having a fun afternoon though. Something's brewing about red mercury. Lots of internet chatter.'

He tilted his head. 'I thought red mercury didn't exist.'

She smiled. 'It doesn't.'

'Ah. Well, I'll leave you to it.'

As he moved past her she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. 'Harry, are you okay?'

'Thank you Ruth, I'm fine.'

'No, I – I mean this morning; I...' her hand fell away.

'Least said, soonest mended, hm? We move on from this.' He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and carried on down the corridor.

Ruth stood looking after him, the words dying on her lips, then with a sigh she turned and headed back onto the Grid.

* * *

><p><strong>Really not sure about this one. Amongst other things I did swither about a different outcome to the bathroom scene! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading.<strong>


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